


Daredevil Bingo

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Daredevil Bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My collection of both MCU and Sunshineverse fics for the Daredevil Bingo Challenge. The respective story summaries will be posted as chapter summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Up, Matt

**Author's Note:**

> [Link to my bingo card](http://tj-teejay.tumblr.com/post/148012577125/daredevil-bingo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy and Karen have a little dispute, and Matt finds a way to intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Mediation  
>  **Author’s Note:** This takes place in the Sunshineverse, i.e. the universe of MomentumDeferred's story ["Sunshine"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4217547). Timeframe is several weeks after Chapter 30-ish.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Feral Matt, Foggy, Karen
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“No, Foggy, Karen. No.”

Matt’s voice was uncannily assertive, but also pissed off. He now stood between the two of them, his arms reached out, his trembling left arm outstretched towards Foggy.

Foggy raised his voice. “She just took it, and then she broke it!”

Karen defended herself. “I didn’t just _take_ it. I asked you, and you didn’t object.”

“When?” Foggy challenged.

“This morning?”

“Is that a question?”

“No, it’s not a question.”

“Then why don’t I remember any of this? Huh?”

“How the hell should I know why you conveniently seem to have selective memory when it suits you. God, you—”

“Karen, no!” Matt said again, this time more forcefully. “Stop. Foggy. Karen. You stop.”

Karen sighed theatrically, while Foggy let his arms drop frustratedly by his sides. Matt stood his ground, looking hard for the words he needed. “I don’t like when you do this. Why not we can get long? Why you fight? This is not ness. Sary. I don’t like.”

Foggy piped up, “Tell _her_ that. She’s the one who keeps taking my shit and then breaking it.”

“This is the first time I broke something,” Karen retorted.

“Yeah, the only working thermometer we had. Awesome.”

Matt turned to Foggy. “I will find new. Please not fight.”

“It took you over a year to find this thing. Like you can just conjure another one up out of thin air.”

“Foggy, I can find. I look. I will find.”

Foggy sighed. “Okay, fine.”

Karen lifted her hand that was still holding the thermometer. “You know, maybe I can fix it.”

“Yeah, you better,” Foggy said.

Matt went over to the kitchen, dug around in one of the cupboards and then came back with something in his hands. He held one hand out to each of them. What he had in them looked like a bunch of Skittles. “It is only thermeter. Not end of world. You take, you make on.”

Karen frowned, but Foggy went for the Skittles and popped them in his mouth before he said, “Up, Matt.”

“Up? Roof?”

“No. Make _up_. Not on.”

Matt let out a little grumble, mumbled, “Up,” to himself, and pushed the Skittles into Karen’s hand before he reached into his pant pocket to fish out a handful for himself.

+-+-+-+-+


	2. Double Standard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy and Marci have plans for a little something on the side, only for them to be crossed by Jeri Hogarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Sexy Places to Hide  
>  **Author’s Note:** This is an MCU fic, set some time after season 2.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Foggy, Marci, Jeri Hogarth
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“I thought you said this place was safe!” Foggy hissed.

“Up,” Marci just whispered, pointing at the toilet seat of the stall they were both in.

Foggy stared at her wide-eyed as they both listened to the ladies restroom’s door slowly closing, and steps nearing the stalls. Marci pointed more vehemently, and Foggy finally complied. The seat creaked slightly under his weight and he had to brace himself against the stall walls on either side.

Marci adjusted her somewhat disheveled clothes, making the fabric of her pencil skirt rustle. They both listened to the unmistakable sounds of someone on a bio-break before the stall door next to them opened and closed and the tap over by the mirrors started running.

Foggy hardly dared breathe, all the while staring at Marci’s half-worried, half-amused expression. The latter promptly turned to slight panic when the voice of Jeri Hogarth said out loud, “Ms. Stahl, please come see me in my office when you’re finished here.”

Her heels clicked a staccato rhythm on her way out. Three seconds after the door had closed behind her, Marci practically deflated. “Shit!”

Foggy let out the breath he’d been holding. “You think she caught us?”

“Of course she caught us, you nitwit. I should have known. Nothing gets by that woman.”

“So much for, ‘The ladies’ restroom is totally safe, Foggy-Bear.’”

“Well, it _should_ be! How many women are working here? I’ll tell you. Three. Elisha is on PTO, and that new Associate is stuck in the archives all day.”

“Yeah, three plus the boss woman. How did you forget fucking Hogarth?!”

“Me? How did _you_ forget fucking Hogarth?”

Foggy was half-heartedly trying to adjust his dress shirt by stuffing it back into his suit pants. Marci was smoothing out her blouse and hair, already looking more than professional. Foggy had no idea whatsoever how she did it.

She reached up to adjust the knot of Foggy’s tie with a, “Here.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Put your phone on vibrate. Give me a minute, and I’ll let it ring twice if the coast is clear. And clean up that lipstick on your neck.”

Foggy frowned and watched Marci’s rather luscious derrière as she sashayed out of the toilet stall, then tentatively followed her to the mirror. Yep, there was a nice, pink lipstick stain there. Marci was nothing if not straightforward. He rubbed at it with a paper towel, hoping to catch it all.

Marci’s ‘the coast is clear’ signal came half a minute later, and Foggy managed to slink back to his office what he hoped was inconspicuous enough.

It was the next day that Hogarth paid him a visit. She got straight to the point—something Foggy actually liked about her, and gave him a better idea as to why Marci seemed to get along pretty well with her.

“Mr. Nelson, in case this wasn’t clear to you yet, our office frowns upon romantic entanglements between co-workers. Keep that in mind for the future, won’t you?”

She held his gaze unnervingly long, her sharp angles and steely blue eyes lowering Foggy’s comfort level by at least two notches.

“Yeah, thanks for not applying any kind of double standard, J.”

Much to his advantage, Foggy didn’t say it out loud. His actual response was less graceful, but a whole lot more conducive to him keeping his job. Some days, he knew how to count his blessings for exacting a healthy level of self-restraint.

+-+-+-+-+


	3. With A Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would Matt do if he didn't have Foggy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Accessibility  
>  **Author’s Note:** This is an MCU fic, set during Matt and Foggy’s time in college.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt, Foggy
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“Foggy, seriously. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, Matt! God, this makes me so mad!”

“Why are you angry when _I’m_ the one who’s blind?”

“Because this shouldn’t happen. Because the university is obliged to provide the course materials in Braille, if requested. Which you did. Way before the deadline. There’s rules and regulations that govern this kind of thing.”

“I will manage. I always have.”

“Yeah, by working ten times as hard as everyone else. I don’t get why you are willing to settle for this. You deserve so much better.”

A sigh from Matt. “Yes, I probably do. But, Foggy, I don’t want to make a scene, you know?”

Foggy poked a finger in the direction of Matt. “You want to be a lawyer, right? That’s all about making a scene to get what’s rightfully yours.”

“No, it’s not always about that. Sometimes it’s about making what you have work for you.”

“And you have _what_ exactly? That’s right—nothing. Well, you have me. Cause I will read the whole textbook out loud to you if I have to. Record it, even. Get used to hearing my lovely voice all day long. You’ll be sick of it before you know it, I promise you.”

Matt smiled. “I already hear your voice all day long.”

“Not going on and on about commercial law, you don’t.”

The smile turned into a chuckle, “To that, I’ll easily agree.”

“Still, I think we should fight this. Will you let me help you fight this?”

Matt gave a shrug. “If it means that much to you…”

“It does.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it. A little help from your friends, right?”

Matt hummed the Beatles song all afternoon that day.


	4. Pumpkin Spiced Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween decorations are 75% off, and Foggy finds it hard to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** All Souls  
>  **Author’s Note:** MCU fic, written for the Bingo Halloween challenge, which was to write one of your bingo fills with a seasonal twist. For those who might not be aware of the significance of the story in relation to the prompt, All Souls’ Day is on November 2nd.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt, Foggy
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“Come on, Matt. Let’s check this one out.”

A heighted enthusiasm swung in Foggy’s voice as he pulled to the right of the busy Manhattan sidewalk, which made Matt stop for a moment. Foggy, in turn, stopped too.

“Another one?” Matt sighed.

“They have all the Halloween decorations on offer. You know, seeing how Halloween was two days ago. 75% off sale. Who can say no?”

“I can,” Matt muttered, but Foggy wouldn’t have any of it.

Matt could have protested to stay outside while Foggy did his thing, but he’d known Foggy long enough to appreciate that he’d enjoy it more if he could thrust all kinds of objects into Matt’s hands for him to weigh in on their smell or quality of material. So Matt sighed and sucked it up.

As soon as they walked through the door, the smell hit him like a brick in the face. Pumpkin spice everything. Matt tried hard not to let it show just how much he wanted to turn back around and bail.

Foggy was already by one of the display stands in the corner. “Fake spiders, and they even look halfway real. Think they might scare Karen if we put them on her desk? Here.”

And there was the first object in Matt’s hands. Plastic. Hard. Smooth with appendages. Probably black, he guessed. It felt like an arachnoid, with a cardboard tag attached.

“What do you say, buddy?” Foggy’s inquiring voice asked.

“Uh. It’s a spider...?”

“Come on, a bit more enthusiasm would be much appreciated. I mean, I know you can’t see any of the decorations, but you can probably sense them, right?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. “I can sense them.”

“Awesome. How about these mini pumpkin lights on a chain? They would look great in the office, maybe above your office door so I can see them from my desk.”

“Didn’t you just very accurately state that Halloween was two days ago?”

“Next year!” Foggy explained. “Gotta think ahead. 75% off, remember?”

“Who knows if we’ll even have an office next year.”

That seemed to stop Foggy dead in his tracks. “What? Why would you say that?”

Damn. What can of worms had he just unintentionally opened? He tried to quickly backpedal. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I... don’t know. I didn’t mean to imply that I’m planning to close the office any time soon. But, you know, our finances haven’t exactly been great the past few weeks...” He trailed off.

Foggy sighed. “Oh, great. _Now_ you bring this up. How long have Karen and I been insisting that we take on more actual paying clients, and how long have you been insisting that we’ll—I quote—“get by” on boxes of bananas and home-made rhubarb pie?”

“Foggy, I didn’t mean to imply anything. It was— Forget I said it. It was just a fleeting comment.”

Foggy didn’t seem convinced. The string of pumpkin shaped lights disappeared from Matt’s hands and went back on the display stand. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ruin the mood. What else do they have?”

“Nah,” Foggy shrugged. “This is stupid. Who buys Halloween decorations a year in advance?”

“Golden opportunity. 75% off,” Matt tried to say in as jovial and encouraging a tone as he could muster.

“Let’s go. I don’t like these anyway. They look way too cheap.”

Matt slowly breathed in a long breath, regretting it instantly when the pumpkin spice aroma intensified to the point of oppressing. Great, he’d ruined Foggy’s zest, and quite possibly, his afternoon.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but Foggy was already leaving the store, leaving Matt to navigate his way out on his own.

He’d have quite a bit of ground to cover to pick up the pieces, but it wasn’t an unachievable feat. If there was one thing Matt had learned about Foggy in all the years they spent together, it was that the man was practically incapable of holding grudges for longer than half a day, and that the process could be sped up with gifts in the form of free food that he liked.

Out in the street, Matt hurried to catch up with Foggy. This time, it was Matt who took Foggy’s arm and steered him to turn right at the intersection they were just approaching.

“Where are you going?”

“Pumpkin spiced latte. On me.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“You hate the smell of pumpkin spice.”

Matt frowned. So Foggy _had_ noticed. Or maybe Matt had even mentioned it at some point. “It’s okay. As long as I don’t have to drink it.”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation three times today? Halloween is over.”

Matt pointed across the street at a coffee shop. “Extended special all week. If I’m not mistaken, the chalk board next to the door even says it.”

“Wait. You can sense writing on chalk boards?”

Matt just shrugged and grinned. “My supersenses know no bounds.”

What he didn’t tell Foggy was that he’d stopped by this very same coffee shop in the morning and overheard the barista discussing what to write on the chalk board with a colleague.

Foggy shook his head. “You’re a piece of work, man.”

Matt nudged Foggy to quicken his pace. “Come on. Your free hot beverage is only a few more steps away.”

“All right, Mister Freakshow. Lead the way.”

+-+-+-+-+


	5. Aggravated Assault With A Deadly Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misguided attempt at gallantry results in not so favorable results for Foggy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Paparazzi  
>  **Author's Note:** MCU fic, set at an undetermined time after season 2  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt, Foggy, Claire
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“Leave it, Matt.”

Foggy’s voice was on the verge of annoyed. Matt fussing in the midst of the melee was the last thing he needed right now, and the crowd of reporters that had gathered in front of the courthouse wasn’t helping.

“Let me take a look,” Matt urged him.

“A ‘look’. That’s rich, coming from you. Also, seriously, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Foggy. I can smell the blood. It’s all over you.”

Foggy shrugged. “Yeah, well, head wounds bleed a lot. You, of all people, should know that.”

“You all right, Nelson?” Brett Mahoney joined them where they were standing to the side, his brow pulled into a concerned frown. “Should I be calling an ambulance?”

Foggy pressed the handkerchief more tightly to the gash over his right eyebrow. “Don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Are you sure? That looks like a lot of blood.”

Foggy sighed and repeated pointedly, “As I already told Matt, head wounds bleed a lot.”

“You should have that looked at.”

“And I will. If only just so I can sue that guy’s ass for aggravated assault.” Foggy turned slightly to the left where a group of TV reporters stood with a police officer. He raised his voice, “Do you hear that? I’m gonna sue your ass before you can even say ‘lawyer’!”

“Foggy,” Matt said in a warning tone.

“What?! He hit me. I’m bleeding. A lot. Damn paparazzis.” He turned to Brett again. “You’re gonna arrest the guy, right?”

Brett gave him a short nod. “We’ll take him to the station. Not sure how long we can hold him.”

“Come on, Brett. Help me out here.”

Brett gave him a look. “Seeing how you’re a lawyer and all, you should know that this doesn’t even remotely classify as aggravated assault.”

“He had a deadly weapon,” Foggy countered.

“He had a camera.”

“With a huge-ass lens. You can easily kill someone with that thing.”

“You can also kill someone with a car. Doesn’t mean we’ll arrest everyone driving one.”

“You would, if they willfully rammed it into someone’s head.”

“I’m not splitting hairs with you. We’ll keep him at the station as long as we can, but beyond that, it’s out of my hands.”

Foggy had to concede that Brett had a point, loath as he was to admit it. “All right. Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, don’t thank me yet.”

Foggy watched him walk away, his head throbbing. He pulled the handkerchief away from the wound, and immediately Matt was hovering by his side again. “You need stitches.”

Foggy shook his head, not able to keep the sarcasm at bay. “And you can tell that by smelling my wound edges and sensing the exact amount of blood I lost down to the milliliter.”

“My dad was a boxer, remember?”

Damn you, Matt, for instantly making it three hundred times more tragic. “You wouldn’t be able to stitch this up, would you?”

“Not unless you want a two inch scar for the rest of your life. I think the hospital is a better bet.”

“Or Claire.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to sue?”

“I did. I also don’t particularly like hospitals, which, by the way, you should be empathizing with times twenty. As much as I hate to say it, Brett is right. The guy will mostly likely walk. Not worth the effort, and the four and a half hours we’ll be sitting in a germ-infested hospital waiting room, only so that I can get three stitches. I’m starting to like the idea of your Night Nurse a lot better than any of the alternatives.”

+-+-+-+-+

An hour later, they were sitting in Matt’s apartment with Claire tending to the gash on Foggy’s forehead.

“How did this happen again?” she inquired.

It was Matt who answered. “I would say, a case of misguided gallantry.”

Foggy let out a grunt, but was really at the mercy of Claire’s gloved hands working on his face.

She raised an eyebrow. “Gallantry, huh?”

There was a smile to Matt’s voice, even though Foggy couldn’t see it. “Yeah, somehow he thought he had to protect me from a particularly overzealous paparazzi interested in the case I’m working on. I think Foggy didn’t expect the guy would turn violent.”

Claire stopped with her ministrations to ask, “He hit you?”

“With his camera,” Foggy supplied.

“Ouch,” she said.

“Yeah. Is it gonna scar?”

She shrugged. “Well, I’m not a plastic surgeon. If all else fails, you can say you got it from a sword-wielding ninja.”

Foggy let out a huff. “That’s not even funny.”

She sobered. “No, I guess it’s not. Tell me, why is it that I’m only ever in this apartment when I’m stitching someone up?”

Matt smirked at her. “Because you like us so much and can’t resist.”

“No, I’ll tell you why. Because I’m a glutton for punishment and need to say No more often. Especially when I’m receiving calls from burner phones.”

Matt put a hand to his heart and pulled his face into a faux hurt expression. “You wound me, Miss Temple.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be the death of me one day, Mister Murdock.”

Foggy cut in, “Please stop this, I’m choking on the fluff. Am I done?”

Claire turned her attention back to Foggy’s wound. “Almost. Now be a good boy and hold still.”

“Ouch,” Foggy winced as Claire continued her work.

“Men,” she muttered. “Zero pain tolerance.”

Foggy grumbled something under his breath, but didn’t dare talk back. His facial looks were on the line, after all. It took another minute or two, then she applied an adhesive wound dressing to his face.

“Keep it clean and dry for a few days. See someone to get the stitches removed in about a week. And I don’t mean me.”

Now it was Foggy’s turn to imitate Matt’s earlier gesture. “You wound me, Miss Temple.”

She let out a chuckle. “You two. You’re hilarious.” She started packing up her things. “I’m outta here.”

Matt lifted his head. “Stay for a beer?”

She seemed to waver for a moment, then shook her head. “Good intentions—bad idea. I’m gonna pass.”

“Next time.”

“Yeah, I keep hoping there’s not gonna be a next time.”

Matt was smiling again. “Well, at least it wasn’t me this time.”

“And I’m still not sure I’d count that as a win. Stay out of trouble, okay?” She looked at Foggy. “You, too.”

He lifted his arms defensively. “Hey, this was a one-off. I’m usually the guy who’ll run the opposite way if someone yells, ‘Trouble’. You can ask Mr. Fisticuffs here.”

Matt shrugged with one shoulder. “He is. Unless there’s a blind lawyer to protect from vicious slanderers.”

Foggy groaned. “Oh God. This is gonna be all over the papers tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Amusement swung in Matt’s voice. “Heroic defense attorney saves blind colleague from almost certain death.”

“More like—”

It was Foggy’s phone that started ringing that exact second. He fished it out of his pocket. “It’s Karen.”

“Play up the injury,” Matt half-whispered conspiratorially.

Foggy decided to ignore it. He quickly glanced at Claire. “Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it. Now please excuse me.”

She gave him a nod and turned to leave, Matt accompanying her to the hallway. Foggy slid the green ‘Answer’ button on his phone to the right. “Hey, Karen.”

“Hey. So what is this I hear about you getting assaulted?”

He sighed. Yes. He’d have some explaining to do. And he was _not_ going to play up the injury.

“Yeah, uhm... It’s kind of a long story...”

+-+-+-+-+


	6. Alamayo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy prefers reading comics to studying. Can you really blame him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Did I Say That Out Loud?  
>  **Author’s Note:** Just a little MCU college era interlude. Some of this was inspired by an outtakes ad-lib from _Night of the Living Deb_ , a ditzy little horror comedy that has Chris Marquette in it.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt, Foggy
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“You _what_?” Matt asked incredulously.

Foggy rolled over on his mattress, which Matt could tell by the fact that Foggy’s standard issue dorm bed was protesting audibly. He told Matt, “I put a fake name on the exam.”

Matt shifted on his own bed, adjusting the pillow behind his back. “Why?”

“Because upon skimming the questions, I knew a miracle would’ve had to happen for me to pass, so I opted for the creative rather than the miracle-reliant option.”

Foggy’s failed attempt at his budding lawyer voice made Matt smile despite a tiny hint of annoyance, which he couldn’t even really place. “What name did you use?”

“Frank Alamayo.”

“Alamayo?”

“Yeah. L-M-A-O.” Foggy spelled the four letters out separately. “Get it?”

“As in, _‘laughing my ass off’_?”

“Yes, exactly as in _‘laughing my ass off’._ ”

“You know that you can get in trouble for falsifying your exams, right?”

There was immediate exasperation in Foggy’s voice. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Murdock. In case you haven’t noticed, Shen is totally clueless and doesn’t make it a point to actually remember students’ names or faces unless he has to. I’ve barely even gone to his class this year, which kinda explains why I spectacularly failed this test. Besides, he’s retiring after this semester and couldn’t care less. So trust me—even if he figures it out, he’s not going to make a big deal out of it.”

Matt sighed. “Sometimes I wish I had your confidence.”

“Sometimes I wish I had your tenacity,” Foggy countered. “You aced this test, right?”

Matt shrugged. “How would I know? We only just had it today.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t struggle with any of the answers. Come on, I know you, Matt.”

“I struggled,” he protested mildly.

“Yeah, with, like... _‘The way this question is phrased, does this refer to Chapter 11, or Chapter 14?’_ ”

“Thirteen.”

“See, case in point.”

“Foggy, we studied all night. What happened?”

“No, _you_ studied all night. I was catching up with my comics.”

“You... Comics—what?”

“Oops, did I say that out loud?”

Matt couldn’t help but sigh again. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed help with Bankruptcy Law?”

“It’s cool, Matt. I’ll pass it next time around.”

Matt bristled. “See, this. This is what sends you tumbling down the catch-up street. You miss one exam here, another there, cause, sure, you can take them next time. And then you end up studying for all those exams you missed, instead of studying for the ones that are in your actual curriculum. It’s a never-ending spiral.”

Foggy moved again on his bed, and from the fact that his voice was muffled, Matt guessed he was now lying on his belly. Foggy let out a _grmpf_ sound, followed by, “Come on, seriously? _So_ not the time for a lecture. More like time for some hard liquor to celebrate one test down in a long series of however many to come.”

“Foggy, I’m serious. You wanna become a lawyer, right?”

More movement from Foggy, with more bed frame-creaking. And a voice that was more alert. “Yeah. Geez. You make it sound like I’ve failed every single exam so far—which, by the way, I haven’t. And of course I want to become a lawyer.”

“Then why are you not taking this seriously?”

“Relax, Matt. It’s _one_ failed exam. Doesn’t mean I will fail all of them. Why are you getting all Nurse Ratched on me?”

Matt harrumphed. “I’m— I’m just worried.”

“About what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just...”

“Oh my God. You’re scared I’m gonna fall behind, and we won’t have classes together anymore. Or that I’m gonna drop out altogether. Is that it?”

“No,” he quickly protested, although Foggy had hit a nerve. Not that he would ever admit it. “I just think... I just think you can do better.”

“And I think you could relax a little more. Unwind. Loosen up. You know, every once in a while. That wouldn’t kill you.”

“Kill me, no. Let my grades slip, maybe.”

“Dude, seriously. You’re, like, in the top five of every single class. Why are you so hard on yourself?”

“You know why.”

“Because you’re blind, and you need to prove extra hard to the world that you’re just as capable as everyone else. Almost obsessively so. I mean, I get it. But that can’t be healthy.”

Matt scoffed, “You get it, huh?”

Foggy suddenly stammered, “No, I... I didn’t mean it like that.”

Matt shook his head, trying to decide if this argument was worth getting into. It had been a long day, preceded by a very short night. He was tired. And he didn’t especially like fighting with Foggy.

While he was still pondering his response, Foggy added, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh... You know, ableism and all that. God, I’m a terrible friend.”

“No,” Matt immediately objected. “Please don’t worry about it. It’s a good thing that you’re not in my shoes.”

Foggy drew in an audible breath. “It’s still a shitty thing to say. And if you worry about _me_ , I also worry about _you_. If this room was the diligence spectrum, I’m, like, in that corner—I’m pointing at the one by the door—and you’re in that corner—now I’m pointing at the opposite one by my desk. Maybe we need to meet somewhere in the middle. By, say, the end of your bed. Is that an attainable goal, Mister Murdock?”

Matt nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like an attainable goal. But I’m not gonna fail exams just because you think it’s cool or healthy.” As an afterthought, he added, “Mister Alamayo.”

Foggy let out a chuckle. “Do you think Mister Murdock could go out and have a drink with Mister Alamayo, to get a head start on tipping those diligence scales.”

“Tonight? We have that Corporate Finance exam coming up.”

“Shush. We’re not gonna worry about that until tomorrow.”

“I’m tired, Foggy. Rain check?”

Foggy actually yawned. “Yeah, okay, I feel ya. Sleep sounds like a better plan for tonight. But no studying, okay?”

Matt smiled. “No studying. I promise.”

“Not even your audio book lectures... thing. Just pure, unadulterated sleep.”

God, it sounded heavenly. Maybe Foggy had a point. There was something to be said for getting rest and recharging your batteries. Matt knew that sometimes his ambition got in the way, but he’d made that promise to his father. If there was one thing Matt knew with absolute certainty, it was that he wasn’t going to let his father down.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Foggy suggested. “Or, uh, _listen_ to a movie. Your choice.”

“Nothing against your near-angelic voice, but I’m sure I’m gonna fall asleep right in the middle of it.”

“Even _The Usual Suspects_?”

“Especially _The Usual Suspects_. We’ve seen that one how many times?”

“Hey, I like a good crime thriller.”

“Yeah, but not six times in as many months.”

“I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs.”

“I’m not. I was trying to make a point.”

“ _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_?”

“I don't have that kind of focus tonight,” Matt said with what felt like a bone-weary sigh.

“Fine,” Foggy sighed. “Then pick something you can easily fall asleep to.”

“ _WALL-E_.”

“You’re gonna go for a Disney film? Voluntarily? I thought that was my domain.”

“Are we gonna argue over this?”

“Nope,” Foggy quickly said. “Far be it for me to dispute a Murdock endorsement for a Disney movie.”

Not twenty minutes later, both Matt and Foggy were in their pajamas, listening to the Hello Dolly song introducing the little, rusty robot that was stacking cubes of garbage on a desolate earth. Matt barely made it past the first ten minutes before he could feel himself drifting off to the sound of Foggy’s voice narrating all the visual details he could capture.

Yep, Foggy was definitely the best friend Matt could have wished for—inadvertent ableism and everything.


	7. What’s Left To Salvage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every year around Christmas time, like clockwork, they would be there. Matt would find a wrapped present on his dorm nightstand, or, in later years, find it in front of his apartment door, nicely tucked into the corner. They would never say whom they were from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Secret Admirer  
>  **Author’s Note:** Seeing how it’s December 23, how about a little Christmas-themed MCU fic for y’all? This is set at the end of season 2. Merry Christmas!  
> Thanks go out to Ash and Robigus for the inspiration.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt, mentions of Foggy, mentions of Karen
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

Every year around Christmas time, like clockwork, they would be there. Matt would find a wrapped present on his dorm nightstand, or, in later years, find it in front of his apartment door, nicely tucked into the corner. They would never say whom they were from.

Of course Matt knew they were from Foggy—the smell gave it away. And when Matt subtly tried to bring it up, Foggy would harrumph and make an off-hand comment about a secret admirer or something equally awkward. Matt didn’t know what to do with it.

The presents were thoughtful, each and every one of them. Sometimes it was something Matt might have mentioned he liked, or wished he could have. Sometimes it was something unexpected, yet personal. Most times, it was something Matt didn’t feel he could or should afford. It always made him feel guilty.

Sure, Matt and Foggy also “officially” exchanged Christmas presents. And every year, Matt tried his best to return the favor, but since Foggy obviously didn’t want him to know about being his secret annual benefactor, it was hard to be equally as giving in return without it seeming ostentatious or out of place. So Matt had a love/hate relationship with the secret gifts.

Yet, he cherished each and every one, because Foggy was obviously putting a lot of thought into them, and somehow never seemed to expect anything back. It still puzzled the hell out of Matt.

Their past year had been trying in many ways. He and Foggy had parted ways professionally—and in a way also personally. There was the occasional text, sometimes a short message left on his voicemail, and ever fewer attempts at meeting over drinks or lunch.

To Matt, it felt like they were just delaying the inevitable, holding on to that last thread that was holding a friendship forged over almost a decade together. Soon, it would trickle into nothingness, and he wasn’t sure if he could muster the energy to do what it would take to rescue what was left to salvage.

He’d almost resigned himself to the idea, with a very lonesome Christmas approaching. Rather expectedly, no invitation to the Nelsons had been issued by Foggy this year. _Un_ expectedly, he’d received a call from Anna Nelson.

_“Matt, I know you and Foggy are on shaky grounds these days, and I don’t want to get involved, but I want you to know that you’re always welcome in our house. So if you feel like company, please join us for Christmas again this year.”_

He’d smiled, and he may have teared up for a moment, but graciously declined the offer. The last thing he needed was to ruin Foggy’s Christmas. He may have told himself that he also had a neighborhood to protect, but crime on Christmas Eve was notoriously low. It might have been a good excuse once to take a night or two off.

The more surprising it was that Matt opened his door on the morning of Christmas Eve, and there was a wrapped present leaning against the doorframe. It had “Foggy” written all over it—not literally, of course. Matt frowned and picked it up.

Back in the living room, his fingers glided over the wrapping, feeling the creases of the paper and the Scotch tape. No bows, no frills, no label.

He knew he should be thankful, feel joy or anticipation, but all he could tell was that he was sad. Sad for something he probably fucked up beyond all recognition, sad for something he wished he could still have, sad because this year, he couldn’t even do Foggy the small courtesy of giving back.

Or... maybe he could. Maybe it was time he needed to do something big, something that took courage and trust beyond what he was comfortable with. A grand gesture of some kind. He toyed with the decision for a long time, pacing the wooden floorboards on socked feet, the deep tissue contusion on his right thigh aching uncomfortably with every step.

If he did this, it would mean something. Foggy already knew about his alter ego, albeit not by choice. Something that Matt now wished he could have handled entirely differently.

Foggy had told Matt time and again that he needed to tell Karen, that he was tired of having to cover for Matt, of having to lie to his friend. If he got this out in the open, it could well ruin Matt’s relationship with Karen, but it would mean something to Foggy.

And maybe, just for that, it was already worth it.

Before he even consciously made the decision, he had his cell phone out, dictating a message to Karen, asking for her to meet him. He’d known for a long time that he owed it to her, and that he owed it to Foggy, too.

And that... it suddenly felt right. He set the present from Foggy aside for the next morning. If things went awry with Karen, at least he’d have something to look forward to on Christmas Day. Because he already knew that he’d like whatever Foggy may have gotten him. No matter what, Foggy is the best person Matt knows, the one person he’s never deserved.

Fond memories of late Christmas mornings with the Nelsons out in Ohio played in his head, the scent of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee in the air and a whole lot of love all around them.

There was no more need for false modesty now. Matt had already made up his mind that the next morning, he would ceremoniously open the present and then give Foggy a call, thank him for the lovely gift, and tell him about his meeting with Karen. And then make that last-ditch effort to go back to friendship.

Maybe not the friendship they’d once had. But perhaps a new one. A better one. It might just be the best Christmas present he could give.


	8. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy can’t help giving Matt another lecture about how toxic his relationship with Elektra is, but Foggy doesn’t have the whole picture. Matt is finally willing to show him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Take It By Night  
>  **Author’s Note:** This is an MCU fic, set approx. three months after season 2. Inspired by [this Daredevil kinkmeme prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/8773.html?thread=17709381#cmt17709381). Thanks go out to Ash for the beta.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt, Foggy, Elektra (mentioned)
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“You know,” Foggy says, putting his beer bottle down on his coffee table. It makes a clanking noise when it hits the glass, which gets Matt’s attention next to him. “You’re not gonna like it, but I think I need to ask this.”

Matt’s face immediately darkens. Foggy isn’t sure why. Maybe his tone of voice is betraying him. Maybe it’s his heartbeat. It doesn’t matter. “What is it with her, Matt? What does she have that’s so irresistible?”

“Who?” he asks. As if he doesn’t already know.

“You _know_ who.”

Matt sighs. It’s heavy. Unhappy. “Can we please not talk about that?”

“No,” Foggy says, a little too vehemently. “No, we _need_ to talk about her. Because she keeps screwing things up. Keeps screwing _you_ up. I thought you were through with her, that you learned your lesson all those years ago. She clearly messed you up big time back in college, and now she’s back, and I just don’t understand.

“Clearly, she’s got some kind of hold on you that you can’t resist. But don’t you see, Matt? Don’t you see that she’s destroying you? Again.”

Foggy looks at Matt, sees with a twisted kind of satisfaction how Matt’s chin seems to tremble ever so slightly below pressed together lips. He doesn’t say anything. Foggy presses on. “Say something.”

Matt’s voice is resigned. “What do you want me to say?”

Foggy shrugs. “I don’t know. Explain to me why you ran back to her with open arms, throwing everything else by the wayside without a second thought.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t what?”

“I didn’t do it lightly.”

“You did it lightly enough to hang me and Karen out to dry. And for what? A relationship that’s as toxic as that crap that took your eyesight. I mean, look at you. I know it’s not particularly flattering, but maybe you need to hear it, because quite frankly... you look like shit. Whatever she’s doing to you, it’s not good for you. You need to let her go, man. Otherwise it’s gonna ruin you.”

He sees Matt nodding. “You’re right,” he confirmed.

That takes Foggy by surprise. “What?”

“I said you’re right. I need to let her go.”

Foggy isn’t sure what to respond. All he can come up with is a, “Okay.”

Matt licks his lips. “I, uh... I would appreciate if you could come with me.”

“With you? Where?”

“To help me end our relationship.” It doesn’t sound bitter.

“You want me to be there when you break up with Elektra?”

Matt hunches his shoulders slightly. “In a way.”

“That’s, uhm... that’s kind of a weird thing to ask.”

“Are you going to be there, or not?”

Foggy quickly nods in agreement. “Yeah. I’m gonna be there if you want me to.”

“Sunday, after mass.”

“Yeah, that sounds doable.”

“All right. I’ll let you know the place and time.”

+-+-+-+-+

Foggy gets the text on Friday evening. Two days later, he sits on the bench in front of Matt’s church, waiting for the parishioners to spill out of the building. Matt is one of the last to leave, his cane tapping its usual staccato rhythm on the pavement.

Foggy awkwardly gets up, knowing full well Matt will have already sensed his presence. “Hey,” he greets him tentatively.

Matt’s voice is low. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah.” What is there to say? Foggy isn’t sure what to expect. “So, uh...”

Matt interrupts him before he can ask what’s next. “We need a taxi.”

Foggy’s brow creases, but he doesn’t question it. They way wait in silence as Foggy tries to hail a cab. He’s about to start complaining about there not being any when one finally stops. Inside, Matt gives the taxi driver an address in Queens that’s unfamiliar to Foggy.

“Okay,” Foggy starts, “So what’s the plan here exactly?”

“You’ll see,” Matt says.

“No, no, no. That’s not good enough. You don’t ask me to join you when you break up with your girlfriend and don’t tell me where all this is going down. I mean, I gotta know what to expect, okay?”

“Relax, Foggy. It’s not gonna be a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? I mean, what if she starts making a scene? What if—”

“She won’t make a scene,” Matt interjects.

“And how would you know?”

“I just know,” he says in a low voice.

“I mean, what the fuck, Matt? Why are you being so secretive? I don’t—”

Suddenly, there’s a hand on Foggy’s lower arm. “Just...” Matt says, “Please just trust me on this, okay?”

It stops whatever rant Foggy may have had at the tip of his tongue cold. He swallows. “Yeah. Okay.”

They drive the rest of the way in silence. Foggy watches the buildings roll by, watches the East River as they cross Queensboro Bridge, the four red and white towers of Ravenswood Station on the shore. It takes a long time driving along the uninspiring State Route until the cab finally slows and stops in front of a large cemetery.

Matt pays the driver, and Foggy is still puzzled. There is nothing here but office buildings and businesses.

“What are we doing here?” he asks Matt as the taxi driver drives off.

“Come on,” Matt just says, walking towards the two round gate posts that each bear a cross at the top.

Foggy trots after Matt, trying to keep up. They don’t walk next to each other anymore. It’s been a long time since Foggy has felt Matt’s light touch on the inside of his elbow.

They enter the cemetery, and Foggy still wonders what this weird plan of Matt’s is. Who breaks up with their girlfriend at a— Oh shit. He slows to a halt.

Matt is two steps ahead of him, but he must have sensed Foggy’s shift in pace. Foggy’s throat is suddenly dry. “Matt,” he ekes out.

Matt turns around, faces him, his glasses as impenetrable as ever. Foggy suddenly wishes he could see his friend’s eyes.

“Why are we here?” he asks, and already knows Matt is going to confirm what he’s finally understood. God, he was such an idiot!

“I’m letting her go,” Matt says quietly. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah. No. This isn’t... This isn’t what I meant.”

Matt sidles up to him. His voice is reserved. “I know.”

Foggy rubs his hand over his mouth, the two-day stubble rough in his palm. “When? When did this happen?”

“Before Christmas.”

“That’s— That’s three months ago.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Matt draws in a heavy breath, and Foggy almost regrets his question. They weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the time. Still, this is a pretty big blow. He tries to think back, tries to piece together the puzzle.

“It was that night. You know, that n—”

“Later, Foggy.”

Matt starts walking again, and Foggy follows, too stunned to say anything else. The cemetery is huge. Gravestones line the paths they walk, and Foggy is lost after the third or fourth turn they take. Matt seems to know his way around. How often does he come here?

Eventually, Matt’s steps slow and he steps through an iron wrought gate onto a small path in among a collection of gravestones. “Over there,” Matt indicates.

Foggy hesitates. He shouldn’t be here. This feels wrong.

Before he can say that he’s gonna wait right here, Matt’s voice urges him with a quiet plea. “Come with me. Please.”

Foggy swallows and complies, following Matt silently.

They stand in front of her grave. The headstone is simple. Nondescript. Her name and the dates. No other inscriptions, no embellishments. Matt kneels down and places something on the ground in front of the stone. It’s a paper flower of some sort. Foggy thinks it looks like an orchid.

They stand there for minutes in silence, and Foggy feels even more awkward. It’s Matt who breaks it. “You know, this is my fault.”

Foggy frowns. “What do you mean?”

“She died because of me. Because I was sure that, together, we would be invincible. That we could win.”

“Did you ask her to fight with you?”

Matt takes a breath, shakes his head. “No, she… I don’t know. It was suicide, but I had this misguided notion that we could do this one last thing, defeat the Hand, and then escape… somewhere. I should have told her no. I should have done it alone.”

“And then what? You’d be the one lying in this grave…?”

“Maybe.”

Foggy snorts out a disdainful breath. “Yeah, and then I’d be standing here, full of guilt for the rest of my life about not being able to stop you. That’d be a much better outcome.”

Matt turns to Foggy. “Foggy, I don’t…”

“You don’t what? Don’t think I’d miss you? Don’t think I’d have regrets? Newsflash: Just because you push someone out of your life doesn’t mean they automatically stop caring about you.”

Matt’s jaw works in its hinges, and Foggy knows he’s hit a nerve. God, they shouldn’t be having this conversation over Elektra’s grave. He’s being an insensitive ass. “I’m sorry,” he tells his friend.

“No. _I_ should be the one apologizing. I’ve done a lot of thinking lately, and I’m sorry for… for not giving you a choice. Everything was happening so fast, and Elektra, she… knew how to push my buttons. I tried to end it, I told her to leave. Because you were right. She’s not a good person, but she also doesn’t take no for an answer. She had her own agenda, she knew what she was getting into, but in essence, I still got her killed.”

“How is this _your_ fault when she was the one who came back after you told her to go?”

“It’s… It wasn’t as simple as that.”

“Yeah, it never is. But, look, Matt. I know it sucks, but what’s done is done. You can’t change any of that now, and tearing yourself up with guilt isn’t gonna solve anything. Don’t you think it would be better if you tried to let it go?”

He nods. “Yeah. That’s what I wanted to do today. And that’s why I wanted you here. With me.”

Foggy’s voice is low, earnest. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Matt’s face twitches with emotion. “She’s gone, and I’m still here. And so are you. So is Karen. I’ve come to realize that, and I knew I had to make sure you didn’t get hurt because of me. I had to stop.”

“Stop? What do you mean?”

“Daredevil. It was putting you in danger, would _keep_ putting you in danger.”

“Wait, _what_?”

“There’s something Elektra once said to me. If I can’t get it by day, I take it by night. I didn’t want to hear it, not back then. But she was right, and it’s cost me. It’s cost you, and it’s cost Karen. All of that, I don’t know anymore if it’s worth it.”

“Are you saying you’ve stopped going out at night?”

“Yeah.”

Wow. That was... Foggy didn’t expect that. “And how is that working out for you?”

Matt shrugs. “It’s difficult. I still hear the sirens, you know?”

“You can’t single-handedly save the world, Matt. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you try.”

“I know.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re also driving yourself crazy if you don’t?”

Matt inhales a deep breath and lets it out again. “It is what it is.”

“Is there anything I can do?” he offers. “I mean, maybe I can help you find a better job than that shitty freelance gig that probably barely pays enough to keep the lights on.”

“No, I’m good.”

“Bullshit.”

“Foggy, money is not an issue. Elektra, she left me... a sizeable sum.”

“ _Elektra?_ ”

Matt suddenly looks almost embarrassed. “Yeah, she, uh... You know, I think she’s never truly had anyone she cared about.”

“Until you.”

“Until me...”

“Well, she had a funny way of showing it.” He knows the sarcasm isn’t appropriate, but he can’t help it.

Matt smiles a sad little smile. “I guess that’s what’s happens when you have a shitty childhood.”

“ _You_ had a shitty childhood, and you turned out pretty decent.”

 That makes Matt actually chuckle. “For the record, I didn’t have a shitty childhood.”

“Shittier than most.”

Matt doesn’t contradict him and faces Foggy for a long moment. “Are we okay?”

Foggy’s brow draws together. “So Daredevil is over and done with? Forever?”

Matt’s fingers grip his cane a little tighter. “I don’t know. I can’t promise you that.”

“Yeah, I know. But you know what? I’m okay with that. At least for now. Will I be okay with that in the future? I can’t promise you that, either.”

“Then that has to be good enough.”

Foggy nods slowly. “Yeah, it does.”

Matt turns back towards Elektra’s grave, lowers his head, mutters something and makes the sign of the cross on his chest. Then he looks up and gestures to Foggy he’s ready.

Foggy sidles up to Matt and ever so slightly nudges him in the arm with his elbow. Matt knows to interpret the gesture and finds the crook of Foggy’s arm with his fingers.

As they walk back to the cemetery’s entrance, Foggy can’t help but crack a small smile. For all the negativity Elektra infused into Matt’s life, this time she had managed to bring them closer together. And that had to count for something, too.

+-+-+-+-+


	9. Determination and Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt cleans out the Nelson & Murdock offices and reflects on some memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Passing the Bar  
>  **Author’s Note:** This is an MCU fic, set after season 2.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt, Foggy (mentioned), Karen (mentioned)
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

The rain slides down the window pane. Standing behind Karen’s old desk, Matt can feel the rivulets winding their way down, the glass cool against his fingertips. The weather underlines the apt farewell to this chapter in his life.

The rooms are now barren and cold, sounds bouncing off of vacant walls. Karen and Foggy have already cleared out their meagre belongings. His own box of mementos is sitting near the edge of the desk. It’s not much.

He carries the box over to the kitchenette to remove the very last pieces of personal touch—those he’d almost forgotten because, mounted on the wall, they weren’t more to him than rectangular shapes of different sizes. The meaning of framed photos eludes his enhanced senses as much as digital screens do.

Foggy, of course, knew this when he hung them. He still insisted that they needed to be there, because passing the bar and celebrating their graduation was the first major stepping stone to opening Nelson & Murdock. ‘Laying the foundation,’ he’d called it.

With a finality that manifests as a dull emptiness in his stomach, he removes the pictures from the wall, feeling for something on the back. Foggy had insisted on putting Braille labels there, so that Matt could tell them apart if he ever needed to.

“Foggy,” he’d said at the time, “It’s not like I’m going to take them off the wall to feel the label every week.”

Foggy had just shrugged and said, “Suck it up, Murdock, cause it’s an equal rights things. We can see them, you should be able to see them, too. You know, in that touchy-feely way you only reserve for special things, like soft fabrics or those little raised dots that spell things for you.”

And Matt, without further comment, had sucked it up.

As he puts the photos into the cardboard box that holds the few personal items he’d kept here, his fingers involuntarily find the Braille labels. ‘Us doing the 3 monkeys thing,’ this one spells. ‘We look ridiculous.’ It makes him smile at the memory.

The second one says, ‘Selfie at Josie’s, circa .1 BAC. You look goofy.’ He doesn’t remember that night, but Foggy has described the image in enough detail that he can imagine.

The third one he remembers very vividly. ‘Graduation day. I look better in a mortar board than you do. By miles.’ It had been a day filled with elation, pride, hugs and shoulder pats.

Those days are no more, and he isn’t sure if they’ll ever return. He silently curses that part of him, the one that needs justice and release, the one that is hard to rein in—and harder yet when he sits alone in his apartment at night, hearing the sirens, the screams, the exigence of the city pulsing outside.

Still, nostalgia isn’t going to get him anywhere. Determination and patience, however, _is_.

With a sigh, he hefts the cardboard box off the counter and finds his cane, giving the old Nelson & Murdock offices a last once-over before he leaves. The door falls into its lock with a soft click.


	10. Guilty As Charged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares come and go when you live in the post-apocalypse, but some are worse than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Arbitration  
>  **Author’s Note:** This takes place in the Sunshineverse, i.e. the universe of MomentumDeferred's story ["Sunshine"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4217547). Timeframe is during those weeks in the apartment prior to the subway excursion.  
>  Written for the following prompt: _Foggy has a nightmare where Matt doesn't get back up after being shot with the flare gun. Matt comforts him._  
>  I’m sorry that this probably turned out less fluffy than the prompter wanted, but these three idiots have complicated backstories and relationships, and I just ran with that.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Feral Matt, Foggy, Karen
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

Karen wasn’t sure what had woken her first—Foggy’s unintelligible mumbling, or Matt’s insistent whispers of Foggy’s name.

It was dark in the apartment. It had to be the middle of the night, judging by her sluggishness and the dull headache in the back of her head.

Killing one of Matt’s trophy’s the night before, in the form of a bottle of Kahlúa, had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now she was paying for it, and Foggy, by the sounds of it, even more so. To be fair, Foggy had had most of it, and Matt had voluntarily abstained after tasting all of a tiny sip. Probably a smart idea.

Matt’s voice was getting more urgent now. “Foggy. Foggy, wake.”

Foggy’s only response was a low moan, Matt’s name, and what sounded like he was moving around on the futon.

“Matt?” she said in a low voice. “What’s going on?”

“Foggy. Dream. Not good.”

Ah. Nightmare. They’d all had their fair share.

“No!” Foggy’s voice was frighteningly clear now, an anguish to it that Karen knew, that she had experienced before. When Matt had fallen into the Hudson. When Deb had died right beneath his fingertips. “No, Matt! Don’t die on me now! Matt!”

Matt let out a whimper, trying again to say Foggy’s name. Karen was frozen on the couch. She knew the logical thing to do. She knew exactly what the normal human reaction was supposed to be. She didn’t move.

“Foggy, wake. Up, Foggy.”

Why the hell was Foggy not waking up? Was it the aftereffects of the alcohol?

“Foggy,” she heard herself say into the void of the dark apartment. It was utterly useless.

“Karen.” Matt’s voice was pleading. He was asking for help.

“Shake him a little, Matt.”

“I do. Not wake.”

Holy shit, what kind of nightmare was this?

“Karen, help.”

“Okay,” she told herself more than Matt. She could do this. “Hold on.”

Foggy was thrashing under the blankets, accompanied by more moans and inarticulate words. She closed the gap between the couch and the futon and reached out her hand, unsure whether touching Foggy was a good idea. She knew he wasn’t the type to get violent, but this was uncharted territory, and he was obviously caught deep in the throes of a reality not to be reckoned with.

Her hand made contact with his shoulder. “Foggy, you need to wake up.”

His response was another moan. “Foggy,” she said, this time louder. She tightened her grip on his shoulder and shook him a little. “Wake the fuck up!”

“No,” he let out. “Matt.” It sounded like a sob.

“He’s right here. You’re dreaming.”

“I killed him,” Foggy mumbled, squirming away from her grasp.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.” She’d have to bring out the heavy artillery, and there was only one thing she could think of. She grabbed the glass on the coffee table, hoping it was water and not leftover instant coffee in it, and dumped the contents into Foggy’s face with one swift move.

Foggy’s reaction was an eloquent, “Guh,” followed by a, “Hnh,” followed by a, “What?” He scrambled away from her, wiping uselessly at his face as he sat up.

“Foggy? You awake?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He sounded confused. “What?”

“You had a nightmare.”

“Foggy,” Matt piped in, then repeated, “Foggy.”

She saw that Matt moved closer, but Foggy held up a hand. His voice was harsh. “No! Give me— Give me a minute, okay?”

Matt shied away, and even in the dim light Karen could see that he was hanging his head. Always afraid he’d done something wrong. Always convinced everything was his fault. Never fucking standing up for himself.

Foggy was rubbing his face, wiping the moisture off with the sleeve of his bent arm. “I, uh— Fuck.”

“You okay?” she asked.

“No. No, I’m fucking _not_ okay.”

“Look, I don’t know what was going on, but it was just a dream. Matt’s right here. I’m right here. We’re okay.”

“Yeah,” he muttered weakly.

Karen hovered next to the futon, clutching the now empty glass in her hand. What was she supposed to do? “Is there… uh… Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Sorry about the water.”

He didn’t respond, and the awkward silence stretched on for too many seconds. She turned her head to find Matt in the barely visible light. He was cowering two feet away on the futon, near the wall, his head low.

Not again. Something had to be done about this. This was Foggy’s job, and he excelled at it. Usually. Not tonight, though. “Matt.”

He lifted his head just a fraction. She tried again. “Matt, it’s okay. It was just a dream, Foggy is okay.”

Foggy drew his palm over his face, for the first time giving Matt his full attention. “Matt, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It was just… It’s over now. I’m sorry. We’re good, right?”

Matt just gave a meek hum. Foggy reached out a hand towards him. “Buddy, come on. Don’t do this. I was confused. I’m… I’m a little hung over. I didn’t want—”

“Give minute,” Matt said, as if that would explain anything.

“Yeah. That minute has long passed.”

“You killed me.”

Foggy sighed. “Did I say that?”

Karen confirmed, “You did.”

“Yeah, look, can we maybe… not talk about it?”

“Sure.” If anyone got where he was coming from, it was her.

“Matt?” Foggy asked. “Are we okay?”

“Mm.”

“Can you come back here? Please. I need you, buddy.”

Matt carefully inched closer, and Foggy held out his hand again until it touched Matt’s arm. Matt stopped, kneeling next to Foggy, breathing in and out for a long moment.

She watched in morbid fascination as he took Foggy’s hand and guided it to the right side of his face, just where his scar was. “This.”

Foggy’s sigh was weary. “Yeah.”

“You dream this.”

“I did.”

“You killed me.”

“Well, clearly I didn’t kill you, cause you’re right here.”

“You killed me dream.”

“Didn’t I just say I didn’t wanna talk about it?”

“Foggy, it is okay. I know. You were scared. Kill. I show.”

Foggy was silent for a moment, but then he said, “Wait, what?”

“Mm?”

“Did you… Do you remember that?”

“Foggy, what?”

“Cause you showed me. You showed me how to kill you. You know, back then, in case you ever turned. Did you just remember that?”

Matt was silent for a few, long moments. “I don’t know.”

Foggy let out a disappointed breath. “Yeah, shoulda known. Your brain is still a wonderland.”

“Amaze wonderland.”

“Totally. But you know what?”

“Mm?”

“You’re alive, and that’s all that counts. That’s all I wanna think about—that you’re here, and you’re okay.”

“Foggy.”

“What?”

“You not f… ff. Feel. Gill.”

“Guilty?”

“Gill. Tee. Not feel. I am okay.”

“Oh, Matt.”

It was then that Matt finally lay down and snuggled up to Foggy.

There. Disaster averted. Another victory for Team Cupcake to cherish, cause they didn’t have nearly enough of them.

+-+-+-+-+


	11. No Time Like The Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow falls in New York City, and Matt feels out of his element.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Order in the Court  
>  **Author’s Note:** MCU story, written for one of the Discord writing sprints, for the prompt ‘snow’.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt, mentions of Foggy and Karen

“Order in the court!” the judge had yelled.

Things had gotten out of hand with a rather hostile witness on the stand, and then there had been yelling and commotion and a flurry of activity all over the courtroom that Matt hadn’t been able to follow.

It was one of the few times Matt felt truly overwhelmed and out of his element. There was no Foggy at his side, telling him what was going on, no Karen to guide him through the chaos. Just himself and a defendant who was equally shaken. More than ever, he wished things with Nelson & Murdock could have gone differently, wouldn’t have ended the way they did.

Eventually, things in the courtroom had quieted down, and normal proceedings had been restored, but the whole thing left Matt feeling jittery and on edge.

The cold air hit his face as he left the courthouse, and he quickly closed the buttons of his winter coat. He stopped at the top of the stone stairs, taking in the change in his surroundings.

It had snowed while he’d been tied up inside, and quite considerably so. He could tell by the way all the sounds around him were muted, like the city had been wrapped in cotton wool. It was both magical and infuriating.

Ever since his training with Stick, Matt had developed a love/hate relationship with snow. There was something about the softness of the snowflakes melting on his skin, the fluffy feeling of fresh snow on the many surfaces the city offered, the way that New York seemed two notches lower in volume than its usual hustle and bustle.

What he hated was that it left him feeling disoriented every time. Snow knocked his sense of navigation out of whack, made everything new and unfamiliar, and twice as hard to figure out where objects and people were located in the spaces around him. Even the clacking of his cane sounded different.

He almost stumbled on one of the steps— _stupid, Murdock, stupid_ —and a passer-by asked if he needed help.

“No, thanks,” Matt responded almost automatically.

He didn’t need help. He didn’t need anyone. It had always just been him, and it had always been just fine that way. Until Foggy came along.

Yeah. Foggy. More than ever, Matt secretly wished there’d be his elbow to hold on to, his cheerful voice chatting away about how everything was bathed in white fluffy icing, his beefy hand stuffing snow down the nape of his neck in a not so well concealed ambush.

Those days were over. Foggy was probably sitting in a shiny office, sipping espresso, working on high-profile cases of well-paying clients. Living the dream.

Or, well… not quite. Foggy’s dream, maybe. Matt wished it was. It was what he’d wanted all along, wasn’t it? Foggy was better off without him. That’s what he’d told him. That’s what he still believed.

So why was he suddenly feeling a lump in his throat, a crushing loneliness, and a longing that hit him in the stomach with unexpected vengeance?

_Get your shit together, Matty._ It was Stick’s voice his head that he heard.

Stick was right, loathe as he was to admit it. He indeed had to get his shit together. Nelson & Murdock were over, and Matt was working solo now. He was making a decent living. Things were good.

He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. There was a make-shift home office to get to, and more cases to work on. No time like the present.


	12. The Devil Doesn't Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little introspection piece for Matt and his scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Bingo Prompt:** Penance  
>  **Author’s Note:** MCU story, written for one of the Discord writing sprints, for the prompt ‘scars’. This one could probably use some cleaning up and editing, but I wanted to share it anyway because I'm not sure I'm going to do much more with it.  
>  **Featured Characters:** Matt

Sometimes Matt forgets that they are there—all the scars that the myriad of injuries have left on his body. But every now and then, he’ll be reminded of them.

It may be an unpleasant twinge from a barely just healed injury when he’s making a rapid movement. It may be Foggy drawing in a sharp breath when he catches a rare glimpse of Matt’s naked torso while he’s changing into a clean t-shirt. It may be the memory of Elektra tracing her fingertips along a particularly gnarly one on his chest.

Every one of them tells a story, although some he’s forgotten by now. Most of them have lives he’s saved or crimes he’s prevented attached to them. Some of them came with blood on his hands—figuratively and literally.

Matt thinks about whether the good cancels out the bad sometimes. He’s done some things he’s not proud of. The large scar across his side is a reminder that he once set a man on fire.

What if Foggy is right, what if Father Lantom is right? Is there any justification for harming other human beings, even if they’re bad, if they’re evil? Is there even such a thing as evil? He still feels he has the devil inside of him. The devil doesn’t care. He needs the devil, needs it to go out there and make a stand for the people requiring Daredevil’s justice.

And then he’s back, in the relative quiet of his apartment, with his energy spent, his adrenaline high on the verge of dropping, a cold beer in his hands, and a conscience on the brink of diverging down the two warring paths of accomplishment and penance.

It always leaves him feeling both exhilarated and guilty. Most nights, the exhaustion drowns out the thoughts in his head. The nights it doesn’t, he lies awake for indeterminate amounts of time, hating himself until a restless sleep claims him.

The thing about Matt’s scars is that new ones get added faster than the old ones fade. Sometimes he forgets they are there.

Sometimes he doesn’t.


End file.
